The morning light, faint and ethereal, began to seep through the colored glass panes of the Temple of Markhal. The atmosphere was tranquil, only the muffled sound of children's footsteps echoing against the ancient walls. Gregory was there, a beacon of safety and comfort amidst them. Pavel and Anya sat, Mila stood around them. They looked at Gregory with a mix of apprehension and anxiety. "Gregory called us very seriously!" the children thought.
"I will only ask once," Gregory's voice echoed through the old furniture, through the old place. "Who of you went out at night and went to the forest the day before yesterday?" The priest observed his children whom he cared for.
Pavel and Anya exchanged glances. The little girl whispered something in his ear, but Gregory easily noticed.
"Can you speak up, was it you two?" He frowned.
Young Pavel, just seven years old, then slowly raised his hand. "Rudyard went out alone..." He thought about his words. "He called me to go with him to the forest to do something..., but I didn't want to. I stayed here, and slept..."
The young boy was nervous, and Gregory knew it. "If he went out in that cold, could it be pneumonia? But without a cough?" the priest wondered.
"Okay, that's all I wanted to know," Gregory observed the children. "Mila, there's something I'd like to talk to you about too."
The girl nodded, ready to listen.
"I'll be going out later to do some things, so I'll ask Isabel to spend the night and maybe the afternoon with you here, okay?" Gregory asked.
"Yes, Gregory..." Mila seemed to be worried about something. "But what about Rudyard? Will he be okay?"
"Look... he's still not well, but I'm sure he will pull through just like all of us," Gregory said. "Well, just be careful, you can go play a bit."
The children then left. "Difficult times will come. I have to be strong for them," Gregory thought. The priest took the opportunity of the dawn to take another look at Rudy before leaving.
"The boy still sleeps, if he's lucky he will resist, fight, and survive."
After confirming that Rudyard remains stable, the priest then leaves the temple towards the central square of Krasnaya Truda. Gregory walked through the narrow and winding streets of the forced labor camp, feeling the piercing cold cut through his heavy fur garments. With each step, the cold became greater, making his bones ache. The poor houses around him, huddled and leaning under the weight of ice and accumulated snow, from this point of view it even seemed like they would also yield.
The air was colder than usual, almost as if an invisible hand had descended on Krasnaya Truda, squeezing any remaining warmth.
Approaching the central square, Gregory noticed that the increase in the crowd did not bring the human warmth that would normally accompany such a gathering. Instead, the atmosphere was saturated with despair.
"Winter has already arrived," Gregory thought, as his breath formed small clouds of vapor in the air. Among the people, the priest saw an unrecognizable silhouette that soon took shape.
The figure of Leontiev, though frail, projected an undeniable authority. His face, lit by the weak light filtering through the gray clouds, showed a serious, almost somber expression. He seemed to be speaking to the crowd, his voice carrying a pain.
"People of Krasnaya Truda. My brothers!" the old man shouted. "We weren't sure we would survive the winter without the taxes. We weren't confident we would survive the winter with the taxes." Leontiev looked to the skies. His ragged clothes fluttered in the wind, he seemed to no longer feel the cold. "I tell you: we will not survive with the taxes they took!" His eyes then crossed with Gregory's.
The people began to shout and plead.
"Damn our lives! Why was I born?! My God! My God!" the people screamed.
"My little children? How many more children will I lose?!" the people wondered.
"Gregory!" Leon shouted.
A sudden silence occurred. "Damn, they're all looking at me!" the priest realized. The crowd watched him, while slowly he walked among them. Faces of pain, anger, and anguish were all Gregory saw.
Finally, both were side by side, although Leon stood taller.
"Do you know what's going to happen?" Leontiev asked, with apathy in his voice.
"What?" "Is Rudy going to survive?" he thought.
"People of Krasnaya Truda! What do we do with Gregory?" the leader asked.
The people then shouted:
"Kill him!"
It wasn't absolute, but it was majority. "The people want blood," the priest thought.
"Gregory, out of respect for our relationship, I will let you climb up here to defend yourself before the people," Leontiev paused. "But if they want your blood, they will have your blood." After finishing his last words, the old man then stepped down, allowing the priest to take his place.
Gregory climbed onto the old wooden bench that his comrade was on, and looked around. Quickly he thought: "There must be a hundred, maybe two hundred people here." Many familiar faces, many of them asked for help and the priest was their guide. "Ironic, I never thought I'd die like this. Maybe this way I'll pay for my mistakes."
"I failed you. There is no forgiveness for what I did," Gregory breathed deeply, searching for something within himself. "I condemned each of you to death."
Before Leontiev could say anything, a sudden and unexpected movement in the corner of the crowd attracted everyone's attention. It was Asimov emerging abruptly and decisively, his impetuous gesture with his hand cutting through the tension that hung in the air.
"Wait!" His young and firm voice sounded above the murmur of the crowd, clear and incisive. "Can't you see what's happening here?!" His voice full of indignation.
Amid the biting cold of Krasnaya Truda, the figure of Asimov, only eighteen years old, stood out with youthful energy and an aura of intensity. He was a young man of medium height, slim, but with a posture that denoted a confidence disproportionate to his age. His black hair, though disordered, framed a face marked by lively and sharp expressiveness. Asimov's eyes, a penetrating gray shade, shone with a mix of intelligence and challenge. His clothes, though worn by the conditions of the camp, were worn in a practical manner, allowing him to move with the agility and purpose that his restless nature demanded. In his hands, often seen gesturing to emphasize his ideas, lay the evidence of his ability to command attention, as the movement of them seemed to hypnotize those who saw.
"Asimov, n-" Gregory is interrupted.
"This man!" the young man said loudly, while pointing his finger at Gregory. "Has been with us for four years! He served as a guide when we needed, he helped when he could! He treated diseases of all of us!" Asimov then points one by one. "Mr. Leontiev, this man held the hand of your wife, Ekaterina, and told her to resist. He stayed with her until the end, while you got drunk by Lilly and Luna. Do you really think it's fair to let them kill him?" The young man's eyes filled with tears, his voice taken by indignation. "Does anyone of you have something against Gregory for him to die?"
"He fucked us!" a man shouts.
"We were already fucked!" the young man shouts. "He just tried to do something..."
"Still, his blood must be spilled!" a woman shouts.
Asimov quickly thinks of something. "Wait!" he shouts with indignation. "He starved us, didn't he? Then let him die of hunger too! We will not give him food, but his children must be fed. We must be different from the animals in the government of this tyranny."
After Asimov's bold suggestion, a mantle of silence fell over the square of Krasnaya Truda. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the young man, processing the words they had just heard. The silence was so dense it seemed almost tangible, broken only by hesitant and insecure whispers that began to spread through the crowd.
Some people exchanged confused glances, questioning themselves about the justice and morality of Asimov's proposal. Others murmured among themselves, pondering the consequences of such action. Asimov's words had touched a sensitive chord, prompting collective reflection.
Gregory, standing on the bench, watched the gradual transformation in people's expressions. Some faces that before displayed anger and frustration now showed signs of doubt and contemplation. The atmosphere of hostility began to dissolve, replaced by a sense of collective introspection.
Leontiev, standing next to him, looked at Asimov and then at the crowd. The leader seemed surprised by the sudden change in the people's behavior. The power of Asimov's words was evident, and even Leontiev seemed to be reconsidering his stance. "Maybe Gregory shouldn't die now," someone thought.
The proposal for a non-violent, though severe, punishment seemed to be gaining ground among the inhabitants of Krasnaya Truda. The desire for revenge was slowly giving way to a more rational and humane consideration.
Asimov furtively exchanges glances with Gregory. "I already know what to do," he thought.
"I accept to die of hunger! I take full responsibility for my actions," Gregory pauses. "However, I ask that Mila, Pavel, Rudyard, and Anya can eat. They were children of comrades... of brothers, just like any one of us." Gregory becomes saddened. "We should not punish them for my mistakes."
Slowly, the mood of the population calms down, and people seem to slowly start to agree with this idea, for now.
"Be careful Gregory, one more and the people will take your blood," says Leontiev as he walks away.
Alone now with the priest, Asimov says, "You don't have to thank me, okay? I did it for free." After finishing, the young man begins to walk away.
"Hey, Asimov," says Gregory, as he taps him on the shoulder. "It's a shame you're here."
"It's okay, it's not your fault," says the young man as he walks away. "The real culprit must be me, or maybe my father, or maybe whoever made the law..." After putting his hand on his chin and thinking a bit, the young man continues, "Really doesn't matter, I'm fine."
Gregory then finds himself alone in the center of the square of Krasnaya Truda. People were leaving one by one to go look for food, but Gregory had not seen a face in the crowd. "I know where to find Isabel," he thought.
As he began to walk, snowflakes began to fall from the skies. Gregory looked up, with the flakes falling on his face. "I can't save them, but there are those I can save."
The priest knocks on the healer's door. A moment of silence without response. This moment extends, until Gregory knocks again. After a few more seconds, a question:
"Isabel?"
"Hi! Coming!" the young woman shouts. "Just a moment please, Gregory!"
After a few moments alone, the door opens. Isabel was wearing a simple outfit, practical for her healing duties, which highlighted the haste of her preparation. A somewhat wrinkled blouse and a skirt of durable fabric, complemented by a thick shawl that protected her from the biting cold of Krasnaya Truda. The haste with which she had dressed was apparent, but there was a certain grace in the way the shawl fell over her shoulders, "I see that elegance does not lack in you," Gregory thought.
"Gregory..." said Isabel. "What brings you here so early?"
"Look, a lot has happened," Gregory's expression becomes somewhat somber. "Can I come in for a bit to talk?"
"Yes, of course," Isabel opens space for the Priest to enter, but he clearly perceives that something is bothering her in this.
As Gregory enters Isabel's house, the disorder of the environment is immediately noticeable. The room, normally tidy with a touch of care and attention to detail, was now in a state of controlled chaos.
On a sturdy wooden table, piles of old books and scrolls were scattered, open on pages detailing treatments for various diseases and properties of medicinal herbs. Among the texts, glass bottles of different colors and sizes, some open, others closed. All labeled with names of medicines, or at least a similar syntax.
The floor around the table was dotted with dried leaves and pieces of roots.
"Isabel..." Gregory observes all this in shock, processing the information. "What were you doing?"
The healer blushes, her cheeks turning red like the afternoon sun.
"I was just researching, looking for something that could help little Rudy." Isabel was clearly embarrassed by Gregory's discovery.
"Thank you very much," the priest hugs her tightly. His small body is sunk into the large bear clothes that Gregory wears. "Isabel, you don't know how much this means to me..."
"Unfortunately, I couldn't find out anything..." The healer becomes sad. "But I'm sure I'll find out something!" Her eyes fill with light and shine, along with her face.
Gregory nods his head and his gaze. Their eyes meet, and it's palpable that the two look at each other differently.
"I'm sure you'll find out something..., but there's something I must ask," the priest is hesitant. "I'm going to talk to Alexei today so we can hunt. I don't know when I'll be back, I ask that later, as soon as possible, look after the children. Mila is taking care of everyone, but she herself is only nine years old."
"It's okay Gregory, you can count on me," says Isabel with a smile on her face. "I like children, I would be very happy to be able to take care of them. Go do what you have to do, we will wait for you, okay?" "She hides pain behind that smile," Gregory thought.
"Thank you again, Isabel," Gregory feels he is not alone. "I will go now then, I want to return as early as possible, okay?"
"Okay... Just promise me you'll be very careful," says Isabel, slightly worried.
"There's nothing to worry about, I know what I'm doing," Gregory responds, reassuring her before leaving.
The priest walks alone through the cold streets and alleys of Krasnaya Truda until he reaches the sanctuary of Markhal, his God. Gregory took advantage of the morning, and the sleep of the people to arrive quickly.
"Mila!" called Gregory, after closing the double doors.
"Yes, Gregory!" Mila appears from inside the internal corridor.
"Come here," the priest waits for the child to approach. "Code red," Gregory whispers.
"Okay, understood," Mila then calls Pavel and Anya to play outside, and both leave Rudyard's room.
Gregory goes to his room, where the windows were already closed and the candles were already lit. He quickly obtains the M1893 rifle along with a box of ammunition containing twenty shots. The weapon is quickly thrown inside his heavy clothes, the heaviest he had to hide this weapon. There was a loaded bullet, and many scattered throughout his body. The priest then leaves everything normal, opening the windows, extinguishing the candles, and leaves without speaking to anyone else, then giving a quick look at Rudyard.
The man enters the frozen forest and walks. He carried water with him, but he was hungry and his body ached. "It's been two days since I've eaten properly..." he thought as he struggled through the snow and forest to Alexei's cabin in the middle of the forest.
The wind blew hard, and the trees seemed to watch him and laugh. Gregory wasn't sure what it was, but something smelled wrong now that he was there. A rotten, disgusting smell took over the place, but as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared. "What was that?" he thought.
After an hour of walking through the frozen forest, Gregory spotted a cabin that rose lonely among the trees. The rustic structure, clearly the dwelling of a hunter, was situated in a small open space, surrounded by dense trees covered in snow.
Outside the cabin, several pieces of meat were being cured, hanging on wooden structures. The meat was carefully secured. Next to the entrance, a torch about a meter and a half was stuck in the ground, now extinguished.
Below the eaves of the roof, several animal skins, ready to be used, swayed gently with the breeze. The skins, treated and prepared with care, ready to be used just waiting for the moment.
The cabin door, made of sturdy wood, had a reinforced lock. The cabin conveyed a sense of self-sufficiency and isolation, a modest fortress amidst wild nature.
Gregory approached cautiously, his gaze sweeping the surroundings in search of signs of activity. He was alert, yet still approached without fear.
"Alexei, are you there?!" Gregory asks, still walking toward the door.
When Gregory called, the cabin door slowly opened, revealing the figure of Alexei. He was a tall and robust man, with defined muscles that were outlined under his simple but practical hunting clothes. His dark hair was a bit disheveled, giving him a wild appearance that matched the environment around him.
His eyes, deep and penetrating, fixed on Gregory with a mix of surprise and caution. Alexei's expression was. He held the door with a firm hand, while the other rested by his side.
"Gregory?" His voice was deep and resonated with authority. "What brings you here so early and in this piercing cold?"
Alexei examined Gregory from head to toe, as if trying to read the priest's intentions. His face, marked by the elements and experience, showed a life of challenges and survival. Despite his intimidating appearance, there was a trace of welcoming in his gaze, a sign of mutual respect between two men.
"I imagine you've heard about what happened," says the priest, who approaches slowly.
"Yes, yes... I've heard," says Alexei. "But what's that to you? How does that bring you here?"
"I need your help once again..." Gregory hesitates. "I wanted to hunt."
"Are you hungry, Gregory? Or is it something else?" Alexei observes him.
"Don't get me wrong, Alexei. Food is running out, we're all going to die. Whoever wants to survive will have to manage to escape from here or hunt to survive," Gregory pauses briefly. "I was sentenced to die of hunger, but there are those who depend on me to move forward."
"Gregory, Gregory... Gregory," says Alexei. "When will you live your life and stop doing everything for others? Out of ten things you do, nine are to help someone the last is to help yourself. No one so altruistic can survive in a place like this, open your eye."
"It doesn't matter. Can you help me?" Gregory asks.
"Hm..." says Alexei. "Okay, I accept. Let's hunt a snow elk, have any experience?" Alexei begins to enter the house.
"I've shot before, but I've never hunted," Gregory follows Alexei.
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As the priest enters the space, he is greeted by a warm and welcoming environment. The cabin is modest, but well-organized, with each object having its place. The floor is rustic wood, worn by constant use, and a thick rug, made of animal skins, provides additional comfort and thermal insulation.
A cast iron wood stove occupies a corner of the cabin, radiating heat. Over it, a kettle releases steam. Near the stove, there is a small wooden table, with two sturdy chairs.
The walls of the cabin are adorned with hanging hunting tools. There are traps, knives of different sizes, and a bow with a quiver of arrows. In a corner, a sturdy wooden chest stores clothes and other personal belongings.
Next to the chest, a small space is dedicated to the preparation of skins and meat, with a worktable and specific tools for such purpose. This little corner of the cabin is Alexei Rodha's favorite.
Alexei leads Gregory to a corner of the cabin where he stores his hunting and survival equipment. There, he takes out two sling-type backpacks, sturdy, made of quality, well-treated, and resistant skin. The backpacks, with wide and reinforced straps, are designed to distribute weight efficiently, facilitating transport.
"Here, take this one," Alexei hands one of the backpacks to Gregory. "It will help carry the meat."
Gregory accepts the backpack, briefly examining it before putting it over a shoulder, feeling the firmness and quality of the material. Alexei, for his part, takes the other backpack for himself.
Next, Alexei selects his bow and a quiver full of arrows, checking the bow's tension and the tips of the arrows. He shows two well-sharpened knives to Gregory, one for him and one for himself, essential for the slaughter and preparation of the elk.
"We need to be prepared for any situation," Alexei says, while gathering additional items for survival. He takes a basic camping kit, including a small portable stove, a compact pan, and a set of utensils. In addition, he includes a resistant tarp for shelter and sleeping bags light, but effective against the cold.
Putting the survival kit in his backpack, Alexei does a final check of the items, ensuring that nothing essential is left behind.
"Eh..." Gregory interrupts the hunter. "Alexei..." The priest then shows him the rifle. "I don't have a sling, would you have any ready skin to lend me?"
"Yes, I have Gregory. Don't worry about that, okay?" Alexei laughs a little. "I heard you're hurt anyway, I figured I'd have to help you a little more." Alexei then takes a treated leather sling and offers it to him. For a moment in his gaze, it's clear that he expects to have to help him install it, but Gregory does it on his own.
The two men then leave the cabin, and Alexei says, "We're ready."
Silence reigned as Gregory and Alexei entered deeper into the forests of Callahad, outside of Krasnaya Truda. Snow fell softly, covering the ground with a white and immaculate mantle that absorbed all sounds.
The two men advanced with firm and careful steps, leaving deep footprints in the fresh snow. The trunks of the trees, thick and resistant, rose like silent sentinels, their branches heavy with snow forming arches over the narrow path.
The cold air filled their lungs, bringing a sense of clarity. With each exhalation, clouds of vapor formed and disappeared quickly, as if they were fleeting thoughts. The sunlight, weak and diffuse, barely managed to penetrate the dense canopy of branches and leaves, creating a play of light and shadow that danced around them.
Alexei, leading the way, moved with the innate confidence of one who knows the terrain well, his gaze attentive to every sign nature offered. Gregory, following him, contemplated the austere beauty of the forest, his thoughts wandering between worries and hopes.
From time to time, a bird broke the silence with its song, or the crack of a branch under the weight of the snow echoed through the space.
"Where are we going?" Gregory asks, his rifle on his shoulder.
Alexei then looks up. "Look, I'm not absolutely sure, but I think we're going in the right direction."
"What do you mean by the right direction? Right direction to what?" Gregory's body aches. His stomach is empty.
"I thought it was obvious, remember the snow elk?" Alexei smiles a bit.
"Yes, I remember, Alexei. So you saw one?" Gregory contains the anger in his voice, but it's obvious he's irritated.
"No, I haven't seen one."
"Alexei, are you joking with me?" Gregory stops walking. "Tell me, is this a joke to you?"
"Obviously not, Gregory," the hunter laughs a bit. "Let me explain better then since you want to know so much." Alexei starts walking, and Gregory follows. "Year after year, since you arrived, it has gotten colder. Have you noticed?"
"Yes, I've noticed. But-"
"You're not to blame, I know that. Let me finish." The hunter pauses and checks if Gregory has anything to say. "You" haven't noticed this, and it's not the fault of "you" who live in the village, but I noticed it quickly. I always traveled and wandered the North in search of food, water, equipment, or anything else useful I could find. I noticed that towards the northeast, is where it gets colder."
"What are you talking about, Alexei? What are you implying?" "How much colder can it get?" the priest thought.
"Me? Gregory!" Alexei laughs. "Ha! Ha! Ha! I'm not implying anything. I know where we're going we will find a snow elk. I heard it last night... Its bellow was very loud, and it made my whole cabin shake. Lucky I built it well... otherwise, I would be living with your children now." Alexei winks.
"Oh, Alexei! What are you after?!" Gregory raises his voice.
"Calm down, Gregory, just kidding a bit. I won't comment on them then, but God bless them."
After the conversation, Gregory and Alexei continued their journey through the forest of Callahad, advancing silently through the white blanket of snow that covered the ground. The sky, a pale gray, projected a soft light, filtered by the tall and imposing trees that rose around them.
They walked side by side, with Alexei occasionally taking the lead, guiding them through trails almost invisible in the vast white expanse. The snow, though beautiful, made the walk challenging, requiring effort and endurance from both men.
As they advanced, Gregory felt the weight of his hunger and injury but remained determined, "There are those who still depend on me." The hunter, for his part, remained vigilant, his eyes constantly sweeping the environment around them, attentive to any sign of wildlife.
With the passing of hours, the terrain began to change slowly. The trees became more spaced out, and occasionally, small clearings appeared, offering a wider view of the gray sky, but Alexei led them specifically to one that offered a wider view of the entire terrain.
Through the spaced pines, Gregory found himself at the top of what seemed to be a cliff. The vegetation was almost sparse on the ground and with thick trees around, but below was different. Below there was a dense forest, with a thick fog. Gregory didn't feel well in this place.
"Alexei, how far have we walked?" asks the priest, his body aching. "Where are we going?"
"Do you see that low part?" the hunter points to the dense forest. "That's where we'll have to enter. Take a good look, somewhere in this forest there is a snow elk and we will have to hunt it." Alexei then leans against a tree near the drop. "There, Gregory." His finger aims at what appears to be the top of a tower built into the ground itself. A point that reaches up there, and can take them down there.
"Perfect, we have a place to camp on the way back," Gregory says, while heading towards the tower.
"Hey, Gregory!" Alexei says. "Going alone?" He laughs a bit.
"Let's go, Alexei, we don't have time to waste admiring the landscape," Gregory stops for a moment, and observes the hunter, waiting for him to start walking.
As Gregory and Alexei continued their journey toward the tower, the landscape around them began to transform. The dense forest gave way to a more rugged terrain, with rocks and outcroppings emerging from the snow like ancient bones of a forgotten land.
The tower, built inside a deep depression in the earth, rose like a solitary monument, a witness to an ancient and forgotten empire. It was an imposing structure, entirely made of stone, with an aura of majesty and mystery. The stones were dark and had been skillfully carved with symbols and images that told stories of a distant past.
As they approached, the details of the tower became more apparent. Strange symbols in a foreign language. "I recognize these symbols...", Gregory thought.
They circled the base of the tower, finding an arched entrance that led to a spiral staircase, carved directly into the stone. The staircase descended, winding through the tower's internal structure at right angles, offering a path to the true base of the tower, within the depression.
"Alexei, the place is dark," said Gregory. "We won't see anything in there."
"Calm down, Gregory, no need to panic," the hunter then draws a torch and in a single movement prepares it, and produces a spark that lights it.
"Go ahead, Alexei, have you been here before?" Gregory asks.
"Yes, yes... I've been here before," says the hunter who seems to think about something.
"And is it safe?" asked the priest.
"There's absolutely nothing in this place."
"Okay..." Just in case, Gregory takes his rifle in his hands.
As Gregory and Alexei approached the arched entrance of the tower, a sense of mystery and historical respect enveloped the priest. The entrance, carved into the dark stone, seemed to invite them in.
With the torch lit in Alexei's hands, they entered the passage, the light dancing on the stone walls, casting shadows that brought the ancient carved symbols to life. The spiral staircase descended slowly, the floor was smooth and seemed to be in perfect condition, as well as the rest of the stones.
The interior of the tower was surprisingly spacious. About seven meters high and five meters wide. The absence of windows contributed to the almost total darkness, with the only light coming from the torch in Alexei's hands.
"This engineering... these symbols...", the priest thought. "Could this really be one of the last witnesses of the Thalassian empire?" Gregory wondered.
The internal walls were smooth and cold to the touch, with the same mysterious symbols that adorned the exterior. As they descended, the temperature seemed to drop, and the air became more humid and cold.
"Gregory, do you know what this place is?" Alexei asks.
The priest shivers. Alexei is turned away so he doesn't see. "No, I don't know and I don't care much."
"Oh Gregory, let me tell you what it is!" The hunter's voice echoes through the tower.
"If you insist so much, then tell me," Gregory is completely attentive.
"This is an ancient guard tower of Tsaravin."
"Really? And how do you know that?" The priest feels relieved.
"Well... let's say a friend told me, but that doesn't matter." Alexei stops for a moment. "Let's continue."
After an unknown but probably not very long time, a light ahead is seen entering through an arched passage just like before. As Gregory and Alexei approached the passage, an ethereal fog began to seep through the gap, like a subtle curtain. The weak and diffuse light coming from outside mixed with the darkness of the tower's interior.
Exiting the tower, they encountered the forest beyond, now enveloped in a thick fog that seemed to dance around the trees, moving with a life of its own. Snow fell softly, joining the fog. Each snowflake seemed to be captured in the air before joining the white blanket on the ground, as if hesitant to disturb the tranquil beauty of the place.
Gregory, with his weakened physical state, felt like prey in this place. The priest wasn't sure why, but he felt there was some predator watching him from among the trees. The fog and snow formed a veil that hid the further details of the forest.
Alexei, with a serious expression, turned to the priest. His eyes reflected the afternoon light. "Gregory," he began. "Hunting a snow elk is not like hunting a common animal. They are cunning creatures, large, and can pierce you with their antlers, or crush your bones with their kick." Alexei pauses. "We need a solid strategy to kill this animal."
Gregory nodded, holding his rifle tighter. "Don't worry, Alexei," says Gregory. "I'm more than experienced with rifles."
"Never hunted and you're more than experienced still?" Alexei looks sideways. "Killed a lot of people in the army?"
"Alexei, don't get me wrong. I never said I killed, just that I'm more than experienced," Gregory remains stoic. "I trained with rifles during my adolescence and good part of my prime years. Always for my safety, thanks to Markhal I never had to hurt anyone."
"Alright, just make sure to pay attention to any loud noise or deep footprint in the snow. Snow elks are quite large, so they hardly go unnoticed. Just try to keep quiet."
"And the shot?" Gregory swings his rifle. "Where do I aim?"
"A shot to the heart or lungs is most effective," says Alexei. "It can be in the head too, but if you want to be really cruel you can go hitting it little by little."
"Why would I do that, Alexei?" Gregory asks."They say you can taste the suffering in the meat, maybe you'd like it," says Alexei. "No. I don't like it," says Gregory. As the afternoon progressed, the priest and the hunter continued their search for the snow elk, moving carefully and attentively through the mist-enshrouded forest. The thick fog, which twisted between the trees and covered the ground, limited visibility, transforming the forest into a world of shadows and silhouettes. With each step, the fresh snow softened under their feet, leaving a clear trail of their journey.
They communicated with gestures and looks, avoiding making noise that could alert their prey. Alexei, with his hunting experience, led the way, frequently stopping to examine the surroundings. Gregory, on the other hand, followed with his rifle ready, his body still aching and tired from hunger and the effort of the walk.
They searched and searched as the sun went down and the light faded among the fog and the forest. Gregory and Alexei had searched everywhere, had walked a huge distance in search of their target. "Is this some kind of joke from Alexei? We haven't found absolutely anything." "Alexei, let's go back," says Gregory. "Oh, come on, Gregory. Stop it," says Alexei. "You know these bastards keep wandering and getting into any place out there, we will find it." "I'm telling you, the first creature I find, I'll shoot it and carry its body." "Let's continue Gregory, trust me. We will find this beast or my name isn't Alexei Rodha!" says the hunter, pounding his chest with pride.
The sun then begins to set, and late afternoon arrives. A deep darkness begins to take over the place, now illuminated only by the weak and radiant sunlight from behind the horizon. "There's nothing to do, Alexei, let's go back or we'll die here," says Gregory. "The night is coming, if we stay here exposed we'll die of hypothermia or exhaustion, if we don't get lost first." "Alright, alright Gregory. You must be right," agrees Alexei. "Let's go back to the tower."
Both men then begin to cross the forest, following their own tracks in the snow. "Let's go Gregory, just a little more..." thought the priest who only thought about giving up and dying in the snow. His heart was being taken by the despair he had witnessed earlier. "You condemned them to death," he thought. "Just fall and die in the snow, that's what you deserve."
The priest then stops walking and falls to his knees on the ground. The impact could barely be felt, cushioned by the soft and fluffy snow, his legs sank a little. He looked down, with his hands pushing against the ground. A great pain in his chest generated by guilt.
Gregory then stood up. "The children need me," he thought, and upon looking around he realized: Alexei was no longer nearby. The place was getting darker and darker, the night approaching quickly. The cold became stronger, and the priest already felt the wind biting his skin. "Alexei!" he shouted. "Are you there?!" Gregory did not stop.
And the priest began to walk while shouting, until he decided to stop to catch his breath. "There's no solution, I'm lost and walking in circles," he thought. "I can't even see the top of that damn tower."
Gregory leaned against one of the trees, gathering his strength, he turned and saw. A few meters away, a snow elk of colossal proportions. Even under the dim light of the night, the majesty of the animal was undeniable. Its white, thick, and wavy fur reflected a soft, almost ethereal glow, blending harmoniously with the snow around it. The elk, motionless, seemed like a living sculpture that might weigh a ton.
The height of the animal was impressive, about three meters to the head and an additional two meters in the antlers alone, which rose like ivory crowns intertwined in complex and elegant patterns. With a total length of six meters, its presence was as imposing as that of a gentle giant.
The creature's eyes shone with a calm intelligence, observing Gregory without fear or aggression. Its breath produced clouds of vapor that dissipated in the cold air. The priest found himself marveling at the animal, "it's so beautiful," he thought.
The rifle weighed in his hands, even without aiming at the creature. "I must shoot, for Krasnaya Truda," he thought. Soon after the weapon is pointed at the elk's head, which just observes the priest.
When the trigger is about to be pulled, Gregory gives up. "I can't kill such a gentle creature," he thought. "I'm sorry, my friend, for what I was about to do," says Gregory. "I hope you can live in peace now, soon, we will be out of here."
As he turns around, only the sound of air being cut and the muffle of something gigantic falling in the soft snow. The priest turns again, and sees the gentle giant with an arrow having hit its eye. "Wow, Gregory..." says Alexei. "You did really well on this one, I truly didn't expect you to keep the beast still for so long." Alexei pats him on the back and already draws his knife to start the process. "What? Where were you?" asks Gregory. "I've been shouting for you." "Weren't you following the elk too?" Alexei laughs a bit. "You should pay more attention to your surroundings, I saw the bastard and followed him silently. Lucky he saw you and stood still like a beast, it was very easy to hit." "It doesn't matter now, really," Gregory says. "Let's focus on more nutritious cuts, heart, liver, and the rest can be lean meat."
Under the mantle of the night that settled over the forest, Gregory and Alexei prepared to open the snow elk. The animal lay motionless on the snow, its body forming a huge silhouette in the gloom. The weak light that remained from the day had just disappeared.
Alexei, with his sharp knife, began to carefully cut the animal's belly. Gregory watched attentively, helping as he could. Under the hunter's guidance, he held parts of the animal to facilitate access. As the incision deepened, the elk's thoracic cavity was revealed, exposing its vital organs.
Skillfully, Alexei extracted each organ: the heart, the liver, and the kidneys. He placed them carefully on a clean cloth next to the body. With each organ removed, the priest prepared them on top of an improvised "sled" cloth. "Poor creature, but it was either him or me," thought the priest, "It's a pity that it was Alexei who took its life." After removing the most important organs, Alexei began to cut pieces of lean meat, skillfully separating them from the bones.
More hours had passed since Alexei first cut through the animal's skin, and finally, he had finished. All pieces of meat and organs were protected by clean cloths, placed on top of a cloth "sled." "And now Alexei, where are we going?" Gregory asks. "I have no idea where the tower or Krasnaya Truda might be." "You may afford to get lost," says Alexei, "but I cannot do that. I know where the tower is, let's take it there."
The hunter then guides Gregory back to the tower. The white trees became whiter with the sudden snowstorm that emerged. The strong and cold winds made the priest shiver and his bones ache. "I hope Rudy and the others are okay..." thinks Gregory, who visualized his children being able to eat in his mind. This made him feel less pain for what had happened to the elk, but the pain did not disappear nonetheless.
The walk was long and took a good while. The two struggled to drag the kilos of meat they had obtained. The forest was very dark, and Alexei almost lost the track several times on the way, guiding himself by his instinct. Then, after that, Gregory and Alexei manage to arrive at the ancient tower and shelter with the meat inside. The priest was the first to collapse, his breathing was panting as he sat on the ground, but soon after the hunter joined him.
"Well, are you tired, Gregory?" Alexei asked, laughing a bit at Gregory. "Don't start with that..." says Gregory, tired and hungry. "Let's make something to eat." "Alright," says Alexei, "I'll prepare something for us."
In the ancient and dark tower, lit only by the flickering flame of a torch, Alexei prepares to cook. He takes an old frying pan, an almost archaic but functional utensil, and places it over a small fire he skillfully makes using twigs from his backpack. Gregory, exhausted, watches as he settles into a more comfortable corner of the tower. "Ah... Sylvie..." thinks the priest. "I really needed you here with me... With you, none of this would have happened..."
Alexei starts preparing the steaks. He takes out from the cloth "sled" some of the best pieces of elk meat, lean and juicy cuts. With his sharp knife, he cuts them into generously sized steaks. His face, usually serious, shows a glimpse of satisfaction as he works on the meat. He heats the frying pan over the fire, the heat gradually increasing. When the pan is hot enough, he carefully places the steaks. The sizzling sound of the meat making contact with the hot surface fills the tower, a sound that seems incredibly comforting in that cold environment. The aroma of the cooking meat spreads, a rich and inviting smell that immediately awakens Gregory's appetite.
The priest closes his eyes and thinks about his good days in Sarcozia, where he met Sylvie, his beloved, and lived a good part of his life in peace, being able to enjoy every street of the wonderful city. Alexei flips the steaks, ensuring they cook evenly. The meat, fresh and of quality, fries quickly, taking on a golden and appetizing color. The meat is cooked just right: juicy on the inside but with a deliciously crispy crust on the outside. "Ready," says Alexei. "Come here, Gregory. Let's eat."
The priest approaches and sees some steaks in an old frying pan. The meat seemed tasty, but even if it wasn't, Gregory was famished. "Shall we say a brief prayer to Markhal?" Gregory asks. "Pray for both of us, please," says Alexei before starting to eat. Gregory then closes his eyes, and joins his hands, he just thinks a bit more about Sylvie, "Forgive me, my love." After a few seconds, he opens them and starts eating too.
The light of dawn hits Gregory's eyes, who had slept on the ground. The priest quickly looks around, thinking he was in Krasnaya Truda, only to find himself at the base of the tower alongside Alexei, who was already awake. "Good morning, Gregory, did you sleep well?" the hunter asked. "Not really..." says the priest. "I didn't dream about anything, and I feel like I slept on the ground." "Well, I'm sure today will be a better day, we have a little way to go before we can rest," says Alexei. "Do you want to start now?" "Let's go," says Gregory. "If possible, I'd like our next meal to be in Krasnaya Truda." "Then we'll have to step it up."
The hunter and the priest then pull the cloth "sled" up the slope of the tower. It was hard to carry so many kilos of meat, but now that Gregory had eaten, he felt much stronger and willing. The sunlight began to shine brighter, illuminating the path ahead, but it did not make the task any less arduous. Gregory, despite still feeling the pain of his injury and the exhaustion from the previous night, showed determination.
The landscape around them was a vast white field, punctuated only by the frozen vegetation and snow-covered trees. The silence was almost absolute, broken only by the muffled sound of their steps and the dragging of the sled. From time to time, a bird could be heard in the distance, but what bothered Gregory was again that bad smell. "Where is it coming from?" Gregory wondered.
As the hours passed, Alexei's house finally began to materialize on the horizon. It was a simple but solid structure, built to withstand the harsh winter of Krasnaya Truda. As they approached, the sense of relief was palpable, especially for Gregory, who saw there not just a shelter but a safe point on his way to the children. "Finally, we've arrived," says Alexei, stretching after a long morning walk. "Thank you, Alexei," says Gregory. "Truly, you have a friend in me." "It's all right, Gregory, when I need I'll let you know," Alexei then divides the kilos of meat in the bag into two bags of approximately the same weight. "Take this, it should feed you for a good few days." "Thank you, again." "I'll find a good place to bury this."
The priest then goes on his solitary walk towards the temple. After half an hour, walking on the snow, he decided to dig a hole, bury almost all the meat, taking out a piece of maybe a kilo or more, which he wrapped in a clean cloth and hid inside his garments along with his weapon. The walk continued alone until the horizon transformed into the Krasnaya Truda he knew, thus seeing the back of the temple that was near the forest. Gregory quickly sneaked around the corners so that he could reach the door. There was no one nearby to see him.
Upon entering the temple and quietly closing the door behind him, the priest turned around and saw Isabel. "Gregory..." says Isabel. "Are you okay?!" Her face whitened as she saw blood on the priest's garments. Almost reflexively, the young healer approached Gregory trying to observe him better to see where he had been injured. The priest did everything so that she could not see much. "It's all right, it's all right!" says Gregory. "This blood is not mine, and it's not human." "So the hunt was a success?" "Yes... yes." "Forgive me, Sylvie." "Alexei managed to shoot an arrow that hit the brain of a snow elk." Gregory does not seem impressed or happy about it but heads to his quarters. "How are the children? Where are they?" "Mila and Pavel were playing with each other, but Anya is sleeping in the room with Rudyard," says Isabel. "She seems to feel at peace when she is with him." The priest notices empathy in her eyes. "You can go now if you want, Isabel, I will rest a bit in my quarters and will call you later so we can eat." "Gregory..." says Isabel. "Thank you for worrying about me." For a moment, words got stuck in her throat, and something completely different came out of her mouth. "Don't worry about it, Isabel," says Gregory. "I could never just watch you starve and do nothing about it..." The priest pauses. "It's a pity there's not food for everyone..." "Gregory, it's not your duty to take care of them like this," says the healer. "It wasn't even your duty to share your food with me, but you did... Sometimes I feel your obsession with goodness is not because it's something good, but rather to pay for your mistakes." Isabel places her hand on her chest, sadness crossing her face. "Gregory, I don't know much about your past, but I'm sure that whatever you think your mistakes were... You just don't need to kill yourself over it." "Isabel, please don't worry about me," says Gregory. "I understand your pain, but I want you to understand better why I do what I do." The priest takes a deep breath. "I don't help people as a way to pay for my sins, I help people because when I see their eyes..." The priest pauses. "They ask me for help..." "I understand..." says Isabel. "I'm sorry for what I said, and thank you for the invitation Gregory." "It's all right Isabel, we all have made mistakes at some point in our life," says Gregory. "You can go to your house, I'll call you as soon as it's time to eat."
The young healer then says goodbye to the priest and leaves his temple, leaving him alone with the children. Gregory, upon entering his quarters, hid his rifle again in the same hiding place as always and left the meat on the cloth on his table. The priest observed Rudyard and Anya upon leaving the room, both were sleeping together, "But only one of the two is sick?" he thought. Gregory swallowed hard, as he had an idea of what it could be. "It's impossible that I have to open that book again," thought Gregory, "There's nothing those scriptures teach to combat that Rudyard could have contracted..." But deep in his chest, deep in his core, Gregory felt... Rudyard's illness is not normal.